Away Game
by Halcris
Summary: Away from their usual London haunts, both Doyle and Bodie manage to enjoy a breath of sea air, down on the South Coast.


**Away Game.**

"Am I boring you, Susie ?," Doyle asked plaintively, though his tone was light and teasing.

He and his team-mate, Bodie were out on a double date with two very nice girls, Lorna and Susie. It wasn't by any means the first time they had made such a foursome, and they'd spent some very pleasant evenings together, for the girls were pretty, lively and friendly.

But tonight wasn't following the usual pattern. For the second time, Susie had failed to respond to the witty banter of the group, and had seemed totally abstracted, in a world of her own.

Suddenly registering what Doyle had said, Susie came back to earth with a rush. Startled, she exclaimed, "Oh, Ray, I am sorry. I was miles away."

"Is something bothering you ?," asked Doyle gently, with real concern. "Is it something you can share ? We might be able to help."

Susie looked round at the friendly faces turned to her, and decided to confide in them.

"Well," she began, "When I came out this evening, I left my flat-mate, Marie, in a very distressed state, and I can't help worrying about her."

"It's not boy-friend trouble, is it ?," asked Lorna lightly. "That can be dodgy to help."

"No, it's not that," said Susie. "I don't think she's got a boy-friend. She's very shy. No, it's her uncle."

"What about him ?," asked Bodie curiously.

"Shut up, both of you," said Doyle, "and let her tell us."

"I think he's her only relative," continued Susie, "She lost her parents when she was quite young, and her aunt and uncle brought her up. Her aunt died some years ago, and since then Marie and her uncle have been very close, company for each other. He works away from home a lot, but when he has a week-end off, they spend it together. And, he phones her regularly, twice a week."

"We've got the picture," said Doyle encouragingly. "So what's wrong ?"

Susie paused to think, as she tried to remember exactly what Marie had said between her bouts of tears.

"Apparently he hasn't rung at all this week, which isn't like him. She isn't supposed to ring him at work. But he has given her an emergency number, with an extension number, too. So she tried that, and got a man who told her he'd never heard of her uncle, and put the phone down on her very abruptly. That really shocked her ! She can't understand it."

"Where does he work ?," asked Doyle curiously.

"At Dungeness Power Station," replied Susie, without any hesitation.

Doyle and Bodie exchanged looks. 'Missing persons' wasn't really in their remit, but anything involving a place with a high-security image interested them, and the nuclear power station certainly came into that category. Not that the girls were aware of the reasons behind their interest. It was a policy of both Bodie and Doyle to give the vaguest of answers, if ever the girls they dated asked about what they did for a living.

"Maybe he's lost his job, and hasn't told her," suggested Bodie.

"Or perhaps he never did work there at all," said Lorna, "and he's lied to her all along."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," replied Susie firmly. "I met him once, when he came to pick Marie up, and he seemed like an honest, decent chap."

Doyle had been watching Susie's worried face as she told them all this, and decided to be helpful "Susie," he said, "would you like me to take you back to your place now, to see if she's all right ?"

"Oh, would you, Ray ?," exclaimed Susie gratefully. "I am bothered about her."

So the party split up. Lorna and Bodie went on somewhere, following the original evening's plan, and Doyle drove Susie back to her flat. There he met Marie, a petite dark-haired girl. Susie made coffee for them all, and they sat and talked for a while, but Marie could tell him little more than Susie had already done. Quite soon she made her apologies, and scuttled off to her own room.

Susie gazed after her wistfully. "I wish I could help her," she said. "She's so upset and helpless, isn't she ? Is there anything we can do, Ray ?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I might be able to make a few more enquiries, but I can't promise anything."

A bit subdued, the pair spent a quiet comfortable evening together, but Doyle didn't stay too late, as he could see that concern for Marie was in the forefront of Susie's mind.

He returned to his own flat, but he didn't sleep too well either. Marie's little tear-stained face haunted him.

He reported in fairly early next morning, and while they waited for his mate to come in, he found himself telling the whole story to his boss. Cowley listened carefully, watching his man shrewdly. Knowing him so well, he could see that Doyle was disturbed by what he had heard. Tough as he was, he had a compassionate side too, though he sometimes let his heart rule his head.

At last, he gave his considered opinion. "You know, of course, Doyle," he began, "that this is not C.I.5's business."

He held up his hand, as his man looked about to protest. "However," he continued. "You do have a day off tomorrow, while Bodie goes on that course he missed while he was ill. I've no objection to you using your authority to make a few enquiries on your own. But, understand this, it isn't our business, unless you bring me back something that tells me it is. Right ?"

"Yes, sir," said Doyle meekly. His boss could be more understanding than he let on sometimes.

So early the next morning found him leaving London, to make the trip down to the south coast. Some time later, he had cleared the dingy, grey streets of the city, and was driving through the countryside of Southern England. He was secretly impressed and pleased with the fresh greenness of it all. Well, he thought, if I achieve nothing else, I'll have given myself a relaxing break.

Finally he neared his objective, and saw the massive bulk of Dungeness Power Station looming up before him, standing out noticeably from the flat surrounding countryside.

He drew up to the gate, and was met by a very officious man on guard duty, who seemed disinclined to admit him, even after he'd shown his I.D. card.

"We've had no notification of your visit," he declared. "Our security here is very tight. What does C.I.5 want with us ?"

Doyle turned on his pleasantest manner, in an effort to placate this formidable man. "It's nothing to do with what goes on in this place. I know that's top security," he said. "I'm just trying to trace a man who may have worked here. All I need is a few words with your Personnel Manager."

The man looked somewhat mollified by this. "I'll need to make a phone-call," he said. "Wait here."

He disappeared back inside his guard-post, and Doyle could see him speaking on the phone to someone. Presently, he put the receiver down, and came back out.

"They're sending someone down to escort you," he said. "I'll open the gate when he gets here."

A young man in a similar uniform appeared round the corner of one of the buildings, and hurried towards the gateway. Doyle smiled to himself, as the fellow came through the small side gate, and, rather officiously, opened the passenger door of his car, and climbed in beside him. But his manner was polite and quite deferential.

"May I see your I.D., sir ?," he asked, and Doyle obliged. Satisfied, the youngster signalled to the older man, and the gate before them slowly swung back.

Doyle followed the directions he was given, and a few moments later parked his car beside what looked like a small office block. He followed his guide up a flight of stairs, until he tapped on a door, clearly marked Personnel Manager.

"Thank you, Lennox," said the man who opened the door. "I'll call when our guest is ready to leave."

He ushered Doyle into his office, waved him to a seat, and offered him coffee. "My name's Reynolds," he said in a friendly manner. "Now, how can I help you ?"

Doyle explained that he was looking for a man, whose name he now knew to be Harry Tranter, who he believed was one of their work-force.

"Tranter," mused Reynolds, "I don't instantly recall him, but we have a large number of workers here, in various departments. I'll look the name up for you."

He moved over to a large filing cabinet, and started rifling through the cards it held. He soon picked out one. "Oh, yes," he said. "Harry Tranter. He's been with us nearly 10 years. He works in one of the engineering groups, led by a chap called Bayliss. That's quite close. I'll walk you over there."

They left the office, and walked the short distance to a large building. Reynolds led Doyle in, and introduced him to Bayliss, a big, burly man, clad in overalls.

Doyle instantly didn't like him _ he wasn't sure why. There was a certain insolence in his manner, and he also detected a slight uneasiness in him. But when Reynolds asked him about Tranter, his reply was obsequious, almost fawning.

"I was just completing my report about that, sir," he said.

"What report ?," queried Reynolds, looking puzzled.

"About Tranter, sir," said Bayliss. "He left, _ walked out on Monday."

"Walked out ? Why ?," demanded Reynolds. "It's Friday now ! I should have been told sooner."

"I know," said Bayliss apologetically, "but we've been so busy."

"What happened ?," demanded Reynolds.

"Well, we had a bit of a row," admitted Bayliss. "I was looking for a particular piece of equipment, which wasn't where it ought to have been. I asked Tranter, for he was the last to use it. I thought he might have put it back in the wrong place, but he got all shirty about it. Said I was accusing him of stealing it."

Listening to all this, Doyle felt instinctively that the big man was blatantly lying. And, being naturally observant, he caught the odd looks on the faces of a couple of other workers, standing within earshot.

"Has anyone tried his 'digs' ?," asked Reynolds.

"Don't think I know where that is," said Bayliss, and Doyle was absolutely sure that was another lie.

Reynolds turned back to Doyle. "Come back to the office," he said. "I'll find you the address. You could try there."

As they left, Doyle glanced back, and caught the trace of a smirk on the face of the man they'd just been talking to. He knows more than he's told us, he thought to himself, but I have no real authority here, so I can't do anything about it.

Not yet, he added mentally, but I'm not satisfied.

They returned to the office, and Reynolds found him an address in nearby Camber, and gave him detailed instructions on how to find it. Then he sent for the young guard.

Doyle thanked Reynolds for his help and co-operation, and let Lennox escort him off the premises.

Following the helpful directions given him, he soon found himself outside the address, where Tranter was rated to have 'digs'.

In answer to his knock, the door was opened by a small, homely-looking woman.

"I'm looking for Mr. Tranter," he began, and was surprised by the sudden look of relief that crossed the woman's face.

"Oh, do come in," she said eagerly. "I've been wondering who I ought to tell."

Doyle followed her through into an attractive little kitchen, accepted her offer of tea, and learned that her name was Mrs. Bates.

"What did you want to tell ?," he prompted, as he seated himself at the gingham-covered table.

"About Mr. Tranter, sir," she replied. "Do you know where he is ?."

"No, I don't," admitted Doyle.

Over a nice cup of tea, she told him the whole story. Harry Tranter was her lodger, and one she was very happy with too. He was friendly and kind, did odd jobs for her, and was never any trouble.

Then she went on to explain that she had been away for a few days, staying with her sister in Hastings.

"When did you get back ?," asked Doyle.

"Yesterday evening," she replied, "and I was very surprised that Mr. Tranter wasn't here. He sometimes goes to the local pub, but that's usually only on a Friday."

"When did you last see him ?," asked Doyle.

"Monday morning," she answered, "going off to work as usual. He wished me a safe journey and a nice break. I'd explained to him about the meals I'd left in the freezer for him, and he assured me he'd manage fine. But that's another thing," she added plaintively. "He doesn't seem to have touched any of them."

She pushed the plate of biscuits towards Doyle, who refused politely. So she took one herself and munched thoughtfully. "But he must have been back," she mused. "His car's here. It's that little blue Ford, parked across the road."

At that moment there was a tap at the back door. It opened and another woman came in.

"My neighbour," explained his hostess. "Hullo, Mary," she greeted her.

"Did you have a nice time with your sister ?," asked her friend.

"Oh, yes, lovely," replied Mrs. Bates. "Mary, Mr. Doyle here is looking for Mr. Tranter. Have you seen him ?"

"No, I haven't," replied her neighbour. "I thought he must be away too, for his car's been there all day, every day since Monday."

"How very odd," exclaimed Mrs. Bates.

But the pair could tell Doyle little more. So thanking them, he left, and set out on his journey home. Maybe his boss would get the local police onto it, he thought. I can't stay around to do any more myself.

Unsuspecting, he didn't notice the damp patch where his car had been standing, or he might have been prepared for what happened. As it was, he found out the hard way.

Approaching a sharp corner, he checked his speed, only to find that his brakes weren't working !

Somewhat shocked, he handled the car carefully through the awkward bend. Then he took his foot off the accelerator, and eased the slowing car into a natural lay-by on the grass verge. It came to a halt quite easily. He jumped out, crouched down, and let his hands explore underneath the car. As he feared, he found a broken brake pipe. He felt the severed ends carefully. The break was sharp and clean !

He stood up with a very puzzled look on his face. Someone had sabotaged his car ! It didn't make sense, he thought to himself. If you want to cause a crash by damaging brakes, you do it where it's hilly ! Here, in this flat part of the country, it was pointless. All the driver needed to do was to cut the power, and the vehicle would coast to a halt easily.

He looked around him. He was in an open area, with flat fields all around him. Which way would be best to go to seek help ? Where was the nearest house ?

As he considered this, he heard a distant sound. Not another car, but it sounded like a motor-bike coming this way. He moved over to the roadside, ready to flag the rider down, to ask for help, and saw the bike approaching at some speed.

He waved an arm, but to his surprise, the bike showed no signs of slowing down. It got steadily closer, and then, with quite a shock, he saw just what the pillion-passenger was holding, _ a gun !

Re-acting instinctively, with the speed given him by training and experience, he dropped flat on the grass verge. Above the roar of the powerful bike, he heard the 'ping' as a bullet ricocheted off the roof of his car, and out into the fields beyond.

He lifted his head and stared after the vehicle in astonishment, and saw it slow down, turn round and start to come back.

As fast as he could, he scrambled to his feet, and charged round to the far side of his car. He crouched down only just in time, and ducked as the wing-mirror shattered inches away from him, showering splintered glass.

He remained where he was for a few moments in case they came back, but there was no further sound. So it seemed they'd given up.

What was he to make of this, Doyle mused ? Of course, it might possibly have been joy-riders, larking about with an air-pistol, but he didn't think so. The attack seemed to him much more malevolent and intentional. He'd only caught a glimpse of the gun, but it hadn't looked like a toy.

He couldn't recognize the riders, for they both had dark leathers, and black full-face helmets, but he'd felt the attack was deliberate and deadly serious.

Who have I upset, he wondered ?

It was nearly 10 minutes before another vehicle appeared. He eyed it with some caution, but as it neared he could see it was a small car driven by an elderly lady. She pulled to a halt in response to his wave.

"Have you broken down, dear ?," she asked in a friendly manner.

"I'm afraid so," answered Doyle. "Could you give me a lift to the nearest phone ?"

She readily agreed, and having securely locked his own vehicle, he climbed into her little red car. She chatted freely as they went, telling him she lived near Camber Sands, and was just going to fetch her grandchildren to stay with her for a few days.

"They do so love the beach," she said.

After a few miles she dropped him in a little village, pointing out the phone box on the corner. He thanked her for her help, and watched her trundle off. Then he quickly got on with the job of calling into Headquarters to request assistance. As Cowley wasn't in the office, he held on to his story, and merely said he had broken down, and needed help. He gave details of where his car was. As it was actually one of the cars from the pool, he left it to them to organize recovery and repair. He finished by saying, "There's a pub across the road, called the Wayfarer's Arms. I'll get a beer and a sandwich there, and wait to be rescued. Make it soon, please."

It did take a little while, but he was quite comfortable, sitting at one of the tables set outside, and watching the slow pace of the little village, where people stopped to talk to each other, and nobody seemed in a hurry.

But eventually, a familiar car swept into the car park, and pulled to a halt. He was very pleased to see that it was his team-mate Bodie himself who had come to collect him. His friend insisted that they have another beer before they went, but very soon they were bowling back towards London.

As they went Doyle told his mate all that had happened. He knew he would have to repeat it all again to Cowley later, but telling Bodie helped him fix the details clearly.

Bodie listened quietly, his eyes firmly on the road, for this was unfamiliar territory. When his mate had finished, he looked thoughtful. "Well," he commented, "You do seem to have opened up 'a can of worms', don't you ? I think the boss is going to be very interested."

And he was ! He listened intently to Doyle's report. "What are your thoughts about this, Doyle ?," he asked at last.

"Well," said Doyle thoughtfully, "I wouldn't suspect Reynolds, but I didn't like Bayliss. I'm sure he was lying about something."

"Could Bayliss have been one of the bikers ?," asked Bodie.

"Right build," replied Doyle, "but I couldn't swear to it."

He looked anxiously towards his boss. "Is this C.I 5 business, sir ?," he asked.

Cowley looked dubious. "The attack on you inclines it that way," he admitted. "It looks as if something is going on, but unless we can link Bayliss to it, and to the shots at you, it's going to be a bit difficult to prove anything to merit our interest."

Doyle looked a little crest-fallen, but could see the sense of his boss's words.

"However, Tranter seems to be missing, rather suspiciously, I think," Cowley went on. "So I'm going to get the local police working on that. If they turn up anything, we might be able to take things further. Let's leave it at that for the time being. I've plenty of other work for the pair of you."

True to his word, he kept them busy for the next couple of days, so Doyle had little time to think any more about it. But the next morning, as they reported in, they got a message to report immediately to Cowley's office. They tapped on the door and entered, to find their boss looking quite pleased with himself.

"Tranter's been found," he announced. "He was found by a man walking his dog."

"I bet it was the dog that found him, not the man," quipped Bodie, and got glared at for interrupting

"He was discovered in a ditch at some place called Pett Level," went on Cowley. "He'd been badly beaten up and left for dead, but somehow he'd survived. He's in hospital in Hastings. I've virtually slapped a D-notice on him though. He's in a private room, no visitors, and nothing in the paper. The local police have been very co-operative."

"Is he going to be all right ?," asked Doyle, thinking of the frantic Marie.

"In time," replied Cowley, "But I want to hear exactly what happened to him, so you pair can get off there now, and find out."

Bodie smiled happily as he selected his favourite motor from the car-pool. "A trip to the sea-side !," he said with a grin.

"We're working ! Not on a 'jolly'," retorted Doyle.

"I know," agreed Bodie, "but surely we'll get a glimpse of the sea, just a little one, won't we ?"

With Bodie's driving they made good time, and were soon entering the hospital. The policeman outside the door they were directed to, eyed them very suspiciously. But he read their I.D. cards carefully, and then let them in.

They found a nurse settling her patient onto plumped-up pillows in a small quiet room. Tranter looked decidedly the worse for wear. He had a black eye, a split lip, and a large bandage round his head. Other bandages showed under the un-fastened pyjama jacket.

The nurse eyed the visiting pair, and spoke up protectively. "He's not very strong yet," she said. "Please try not to tire him too much." They smiled re-assuringly at her, and she left, albeit rather reluctantly.

Bodie and Doyle had discussed their approach on the way down. They had decided that Doyle would tell Tranter just why he had been looking for him, and what he had been told, and then they would hear his side of the story.

So Doyle explained how he had come to meet Marie, who was so worried about not hearing from her uncle, and that that had prompted him to go down to Dungeness to ask about him. The mention of Marie agitated the patient, but Doyle calmed him, by promising he would go to see her that evening, to tell her he was safe.

He then went on to relate his encounter with Bayliss, and how the man had said Tranter had walked out after a row.

"That's a lie," interposed Tranter fiercely.

"Yes, I thought it was, "said Doyle. "You can tell us the truth in a minute."

He finished by telling the man of his visit to Mrs. Bates. He didn't include the shooting incident yet, however. They'd listen to Tranter's story, and that would probably tell them why that attack had happened.

"Now tell us what really happened," said Bodie rather impatiently.

"It started on Monday morning," began Tranter. "There was a piece of equipment I needed urgently. I went to ask Bayliss for it. It's what we have to do. He's in charge of the storeroom, and he never lets anyone else go into it. He has to fetch things himself."

Doyle smiled to himself. That sounded like Bayliss, needing to be in complete charge.

"He wasn't in his office," went on Tranter. "I waited a bit, but he didn't come and I had no idea where he might be. Then I spotted the storeroom key hanging on its usual hook. What I needed was urgent. If I waited much longer there might be a breakdown. So I took the key, and went to get the equipment myself, thinking I'd explain to Bayliss later how urgent it was."

He paused, remembering what had happened then. The listening pair waited, eager to hear. "I opened the storeroom door and went in," continued Tranter, "And I got the shock of my life ! The place was almost empty ! Back-up equipment that should've been there, in case of faults or accidental damage, just wasn't there ! I especially noticed one item. It's so vital, being very liable to get damaged in use, that at least five or six back-up pieces should be in stock. There was only one !."

"Is this stuff valuable ?," asked Bodie.

"Very," said Tranter, "Some of the items can run into four figures !."

"Do you reckon Bayliss has been stealing them ?," asked Doyle, beginning to see how the scenario was developing.

"Yes," exclaimed Tranter, "and selling them on. He'd get a good price in some quarters."

"What happened next ?," asked Doyle.

"Well, I turned back to the door, knowing I must report this," continued Tranter, "and there was Bayliss in the doorway, along with two of his cronies, Ross and Hayes. I knew by the look on their faces that they were in on it too."

"And they attacked you ?," suggested Bodie.

"Not then," said Tranter, "but they grabbed me, - I couldn't stand against all three of them. They pushed me into a small cupboard at the back of the storeroom, and shut me in. I shouted and banged on the door, but nobody else heard me."

"Go on," said Doyle. This was an intriguing tale.

"They came for me later. It must have been knocking off time, I suppose, and bundled me into Ross's car. They took me to Bayliss's place. I've been there once. They shut me in a cellar, and kept me there for several days, - I lost count. They didn't treat me too badly. I was fed decently, but every evening they'd go on and on at me, trying to persuade me to keep quiet about it, and come in with them, for a share of the money they were making. I constantly refused, and I don't think they quite knew what to do about me."

"They must have put your car back in its usual place, to cover up," said Doyle. "I was told it was there all week."

The man was beginning to look tired, and the watching pair hoped he'd be able to finish his story before some officious nurse turfed them out for exhausting her patient.

"Then one night, it was different," went on the weary man. "I think it was Friday. They came in as usual, but they seemed in a bit of a panic."

"I think that was my fault," explained Doyle. "It was Friday that I visited and inquired about you, and Bayliss told me that 'cock and bull' story about a row."

"Then," said Tranter, "they did go for me, all three of them. I tried to fight them, but you've seen how big Bayliss is, and he's nasty with it. So were the other two. I don't remember any more after that till I woke up here in hospital."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances. Things were a lot clearer now. Doyle took a moment then to tell Tranter about the sabotage to his car, the motor-bike, and the shooting incident.

"Hayes has got a bike," said Tranter, "and Bayliss often rides with him. He gives him a lift into work most days. Bayliss only brings his car when it's wet."

"Or when he's got something to sneak out," suggested Bodie.

Tranter nodded. That made sense in the circumstances.

"Right," said Doyle decisively, "Now we know the truth, we'll be off to report it all to our boss, and he'll get the appropriate action under way. But you mustn't say a word to anyone else," he warned. "We want to keep it secret that you've been found, and alive, so that that little gang aren't alerted."

"What about Marie ?," asked Tranter. "She must be worried sick."

"I'll see her," said Doyle, "and tell her you're safe. She won't be allowed to visit just yet, I'm afraid, but she's very sensible. I'll make her understand why."

They left the hospital soon after that. Bodie insisted on taking a detour round the seafront, to get a look at the sea, and grinned with delight to observe the waves rolling in, white-tipped, thanks to a stiff breeze. They allowed themselves the guilty pleasure of stopping for a few moments, to lean on the promenade rail, to gaze at the sparkling waves,and to breathe in the clean fresh air.

Doyle smiled at his friend's child-like pleasure. "You should have brought your bucket and spade," he joked.

"Aren't they in the boot ?," countered his mate, with feigned innocence.

But in spite of this light-hearted banter, their minds were firmly on the job in hand, and they were soon making good speed back to London, where they quickly related the whole story to their boss.

"Right," he said briskly when they had finished, "Now we have got something to go on. I'll get onto the senior officer in the area, and he'll get things organised down there."

His active and efficient mind was already working out the steps he had to take now. "Off you go," he said to the waiting pair, "I've got some phone calls to make, and there's plenty of other work for you to be getting on with."

Bodie and Doyle had to be content with that, though both would have liked to be more involved in whatever action would follow, partly because of the rough treatment that Tranter had received, and partly because of the attempted attack on Doyle.

True to his word, Doyle did go to see Marie. He explained to her that her uncle was alive and recovering well, but that that fact must be kept a secret for now, so as not to alert the gang responsible.

"Let them go on thinking he's still missing," he said. "It'll make them cocky, because they'll think they're safe."

"Is Uncle Harry safe ?," asked Marie anxiously.

"Oh, yes," Doyle re-assured her. "Nobody else knows his story, and there's a discreet police guard looking after him."

"When will I get to see him ?," asked Marie.

"Not until this gang is caught," said Doyle. "But he's getting better, so don't worry any more. But tell no-one !," he stressed, for he had to make that clear to her.

"I won't say a word," she promised, and saw him out, grateful for his so very re-assuring visit.

Bodie and Doyle pushed on with their current work, hoping they would soon hear about some action down in the area. But it was several days before Cowley summoned them into his office.

"Is there news, sir ?," asked Doyle eagerly.

"Yes," said Cowley, "Some good, some bad."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged looks. What did that mean ?

"It's not Tranter, is it ?," asked Doyle anxiously.

"No, he's fine, making a good recovery," replied Cowley.

"So what has happened ?," asked Bodie impatiently.

"I'm trying to tell you," snapped their boss, "Just listen."

He glanced again at the report before him. "Chief Inspector Wilson, he's a good man," continued Cowley. "He got things organised, and took a selected squad to Dungeness. As you suspected, Doyle, Reynolds was not involved. He was very shocked, as he had totally trusted Bayliss, who up till then had always been very good at his job. He was devastated when they took his master-key and opened up the store-room, and he found how desperately depleted it was."

"That sounds like the good news," interrupted Bodie, "So what's the bad part ?"

"I'm coming to that," exclaimed Cowley. "They went to arrest the culprits, and picked up Ross and Hayes easily. But Bayliss escaped them. He must have been alerted, for he shot out of a back-door, jumped on the motor-bike belonging to Hayes, and was out and away before they could grab him."

Doyle looked at Bodie and smiled ruefully. That was indeed bad news, for Bayliss was undoubtedly the ringleader, and driving force of this devious scheme.

"The police got his address from Reynolds," continued Cowley, "and went there with all speed, but they were too late. His car had gone. They searched the house, and found a good deal. In the cellar they discovered several of the missing items, still unsold presumably, or un-collected. In the lounge they found a wide-open safe, completely empty."

"He's skipped," commented Bodie, rather stating the obvious.

"When Ross and Hayes heard that," went on Cowley, "they were very annoyed. Apparently they were nearing the end of their scheme. They only had to sell the last pieces. Then they were going to divide the money and take off, each going their own way. Bayliss was holding all the proceeds in his safe, and now he's gone off with the lot. So they are telling all they know. They've even given us the names of some of the dodgy dealers they used, so there will be follow-up on that."

"Have either of them any idea where he's gone ?," asked Doyle.

"I don't think so," replied Cowley. "They are so mad at him, I think they'd tell us if they knew. But all the usual checks are in place, ports, airports, stations etc. So he may be picked up yet."

But as the days went by, it seemed as if his optimistic hopes were unjustified. Even with an A.P.B., and a good photograph, taken from his security file, no trace of the man came to light.

Harry Tranter continued to improve and was soon out of hospital. He was granted a convalescent holiday, and promised that when he returned, and was fit enough, he would be welcomed back to Dungeness, and promoted to take over the job and responsibilities that Bayliss had so misused.

Marie and her uncle went off for a sunshine break in the Seychelles. Doyle had a postcard from them saying what a good time they were having, and felt decidedly envious.

Extensive searches were made for Bayliss, with little result. After a while, his car was found abandoned in the car-park at Crawley railway station, but that was of little help, for if he had boarded a train at Crawley, he could have gone on anywhere. He seemed to have 'gone to ground' completely.

Bodie and Doyle were very disappointed at this negative result.

"They were planning to go very soon," commented Doyle, "so perhaps he'd already made his plans on how to disappear."

"I'd like to see him caught," said Bodie, "and so would Ross and Hayes now, but they can't help. He didn't confide in them."

It was no longer strictly their business, so there was nothing more they could do about it. They put it behind them and got on with some more pressing work. And there was always plenty of that ! London had more than its fair share of criminal activity, thriving in its underworld, and more openly too.

Late one afternoon, Bodie was driving them back towards Headquarters, after a successful day's work. They were looking forward to getting in and making their report, for after that they would be free for a rare treat, a whole weekend off !

Both were calm and relaxed in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

Suddenly, Doyle shouted "Stop !," and twisted round in his seat to look over his shoulder. Bodie quickly pulled the car to a halt, and looked enquiringly at his team-mate.

"I saw a man," began Doyle.

"Not surprising," interrupted Bodie, "London's full of 'em."

"Idiot," retorted Doyle. "No, I swear it was Bayliss !. He went down that alley." He was already climbing out of the car.

Bodie was instantly alert, joking forgotten. "The other end of the alley is in Morton Street," he said. "I'll get round there."

He sped off quickly, as Doyle hurried towards the alley where he'd seen the man go. As he turned into it, he was even more sure of what he'd seen, for there was a familiar look about the bulk of the man already half-way down the narrow lane. He increased his speed, glad that today he was wearing trainers that made no sound. The boots he usually wore would have alerted his quarry.

But the uneasy wariness of a man 'on the run' must have helped Bayliss, for he suddenly swung round, to see who was following him.

Yards apart, the recognition was instant and mutual !.

Bayliss turned to run, but was brought up short, when he saw that the opening before him was blocked by a car, and a tall dark-haired man !

Although the man was leaning nonchalantly against the car, his arms folded, the expression on his face was far from friendly.

Bodie hadn't met Bayliss, of course, but he had seen his picture, and knew his mate's instinct had been right. He was remembering that this was the man who had beaten up poor Tranter so badly, and also was probably the one who had dared to take pot-shots at his friend.

Not a nice man !

Bayliss turned back to face Doyle. Thinking perhaps that his height and weight gave him an advantage, he decided to make a fight for it. But he soon found that brawn and brutality were no match for the skill of a well-trained man.

Doyle was indulging himself by allowing his attacks to be a little more vicious than was his usual style. Bayliss deserved to know what it was like to be on the receiving end. And he was now learning the hard way !

Bodie stood by, watching carefully. He trusted the skill of his team-mate, but knew that Doyle was angry with this man. So he was ready to step in, if Doyle so forgot himself to overstep the mark.

But Doyle was in complete control. He well knew that the blows he was landing so accurately were causing pain, but were not dangerously severe. He knew what he was doing, - punishing the man for the grief he'd caused Tranter and Marie.

But then it suddenly went wrong !

The dirty back alley, like so many others, was strewn with litter. Doyle was unlucky enough to land his foot on a bit of discarded orange-peel. This caused him to slip, and although he recovered his balance quickly, the momentary lapse gave Bayliss an undeserved chance.

A hefty punch caught Doyle right in the solar plexus, and slammed him back into a doorway. Doubled over in pain, he slid down onto the doorstep.

Bayliss seized the chance and made a run for it, and, surprisingly fast for a heavy man, bolted back up the alley.

But Bodie was ready, his gun in his hand. At this range, he could hardly miss, and he was trained to kill. But he stayed his hand. Although Bayliss might well be accused of two attempts at murder, he hadn't actually killed anyone. What he deserved was a nice long spell behind bars !

He yelled his customary warning "Freeze," and when this was ignored, lowered his aim and fired one shot. It caught Bayliss in the leg and brought him crashing to the ground. Bodie hurried forward to check. Bayliss was clutching his leg and yelling furiously. Satisfied that his victim wasn't going anywhere, Bodie turned back to see how his friend was.

Doyle was on his feet and coming towards him, rubbing his middle ruefully.

"You all right, mate ?," asked Bodie anxiously. Doyle had hit the doorpost with quite a thud.

"Yes," gasped Doyle breathlessly, "Just winded, I'll be fine in a minute."

Bodie pulled out his radio-phone and called for a back-up team. It arrived quickly, to take Bayliss to have his leg seen to. Then he went into custody to be re-united with his co-conspirators, who were no longer his friends.

Bodie and Doyle continued on into base, and reported to Cowley. He listened intently to their story, and even managed a grim smile when they finished.

He went to his cabinet, and poured them all a drink. "You've done well," he said, as he clinked glasses with them. The pair felt very good. Such praise came only rarely from their dour boss.

"Now, off you go," Cowley added briskly. "Enjoy your weekend off, and be back raring to go on Monday."

He watched them go, and smiled to himself. They were a good team, and had done well in bringing this nasty case to a close. They deserved their little break.

But there would be plenty more cases for them to tackle in the future.

This had been an 'away game', out of the area they usually covered, but London was perpetually full of cases needing C.I. 5's attention, and would be for the foreseeable future.


End file.
